


starry-eyed & star-crossed

by halomoji



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pining, a little bit. can't have 707 without angst u know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:34:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23520043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halomoji/pseuds/halomoji
Summary: based on an rp with a friend, quick context: mc has food poisoning, saeyoung goes to take care of her, yoosung gets jealous and has a few too many drinks, words are said and feelings are felt. this is how saeyoung deals with the aftermath.
Relationships: 707 | Choi Luciel/Kim Yoosung
Comments: 3
Kudos: 69





	starry-eyed & star-crossed

the apartment is eerily quiet. 

no friendly banter with mc, no blatantly faked laugh tracks from the television, no buzzing notifications from his cellphone every couple of minutes. 

just....quiet. 

and he  _ hates  _ it. 

silence has always been horrible. it’s why he talks so much; if he’s talking, even if the people he’s speaking to aren’t responding with his level of energy, at least there’s noise. even in the messenger, there are pings and typing sounds and emoji voices. the interaction is enough to put up a wall between himself and the darker parts of him he doesn’t like to see. 

but now there’s nothing but the white noise of the ceiling fan to distract him. even the sound of mc’s gentle breathing has gone because he’s already carried her off to sleep in her bed rather than on the uncomfortable couch. 

so, saeyoung lays sprawled out on the living room floor, utterly alone, and tries very hard to not think about...anything. 

(an extremely difficult task given that he’s been thinking about yoosung, and specifically the way his heart weakens at the mere mention of him, a lot lately. and that’s not good.)

moonlight peeks through the blinds, providing just enough light to bring things to life in the darkness. shadows dance and form strange creatures in every corner of the room, but he much prefers them to the violet that consumes his vision whenever he closes his eyes.

his stomach is twisted into knots so tight that he thinks he’s somehow caught mc’s food poisoning. of course, says the logical part of his brain, that’s impossible...but it’s also the only answer he can come up with that doesn’t threaten to send his brain into a complete spiral. the hand on his chest turns into a fist, the fabric of his shirt the only thing keeping his nails from digging into the skin of his palm. 

_ stop thinking. stop it. zero zero one one- _

his phone, now turned off for the time being both for his sake and yoosung’s, has been haphazardly tossed in the direction of the couch. there’s no telling where it landed when he frustratedly hurled it away half an hour ago in favor of tangling both hands in his hair to ground himself. part of him wants to find it and check for any missed messages, but the weight on his chest is so great now that he physically can’t bring himself to move.

it’s going to be a very long night.

he lets the heaviness settle into his heart, a painful feeling he’s long since gotten familiar with. it presses down like a ton of bricks against his lungs until he’s struggling just to breathe, until his heart fills with an unspeakable dread, until the tears in his eyes obscure the daunting shapes in the apartment.

and then, abruptly driven by some force he can’t wrap his head around, he forces himself with great effort to his feet. he scrubs the tears away before they have a chance to fall. he needs to leave, just for a little while. to clear his head. mc’s taken her medicine, so he’s confident she’ll sleep soundly. but he  _ needs _ to get out. 

before he realizes where he’s even going, he’s arrived at a small park near mc’s apartment. considering that it’s half past three in the morning, the park is certainly closed--not that that’s going to stop him. there’s a place in this park with a beautiful view of the sky and, as usual when he’s feeling lower than dirt, he aches to stargaze. 

it doesn’t take long for him to get to the clearing. he’s only been here a handful of times, but his natural sure-footedness leads him easily over protruding tree roots and hours-old rain puddles. the night is alive with the sounds of rustling leaves and chirping insects. cars pass in the distance, engines barely audible but still loud enough to matter. the burden on his chest is beginning to lessen, even more so once he’s able to lay in the grass, hands folded on his stomach, and just...look. 

for a while, his mind is blissfully preoccupied with hunting down and naming every constellation he can see in the clear night sky. he makes a mental note of the only one he doesn’t quite recognize, intent on looking it up next time he’s able to. from there he starts counting stars just as a way to keep his thoughts focused. 

and then a shooting star streaks by.

saeyoung’s breath catches in his throat, wide eyes locked on the meteorite until it vanishes into the treeline. a few seconds of immobile disbelief pass before his body relaxes enough for him to bring his hands up to his face to press against his closed eyes, offsetting his glasses in the process. 

“come  _ on _ …”

he isn’t normally the type to  _ want _ . not like this, anyway; he knows better. the agency, vanderwood especially, drills it into his head at even the slightest hint of weakness. agents don’t have families. agents don’t have true selves. agents don’t have real homes. anything an agent has can be taken away at the drop of a hat.

the thought makes his throat burn like acid. he swallows forcefully against the rising pain, resisting the urge to cry again. he doesn’t want to leave the rfa, not ever; he’d already lost his family once, to do it again would be unbearable. 

but the only way to be sure he isn’t forced to leave would be to stop...whatever feelings dug at his heart whenever he saw yoosung pop into the messenger, or use his smiling emoji, or call him “hyung” over the phone, or…

saeyoung stretches his arms out to either side, exhaling heavily. his breath comes out as a little cloud of mist but he pays it no attention, mind tangled in a mess of thoughts that all come back to one word:  _ yoosung _ . 

his heart flips in his chest. 

ugh. when did he get so...soft? if vanderwood ever found out about this, she’d have his head on a platter and hand delivered to their boss. 

but for a moment, alone in the safety of the night’s brisk embrace, he allows himself to think. 

he and yoosung are good friends, of course; saeyoung considers the blonde his  _ best _ friend. even if yoosung doesn’t always understand him and despite saeyoung pushing his buttons a little too much sometimes, they still get along well. they joke and nag each other in the messenger, they get together for lolol raids and sleepovers, yoosung wants to teach him how to cook, and saeyoung wants to teach yoosung arabic so he can get past the door alarms.

...still, none of that is quite enough right now. 

he doesn’t know when it started, the way he beams at his phone when he sees yoosung’s online and the giddiness he feels when yoosung laughs at one of his jokes, but it doesn’t seem to be leaving anytime soon. what’s worse is that it seems to be intensifying to the point where sometimes he can barely breathe because he’s been struck by the thought of something so domestic as yoosung running his fingers through his hair. even now, the thought brings heat rising to his cheeks and he has to tamper it down because it’s so,  _ so  _ dangerous for him to get lost in the reverie.

unbidden, he’s forced to remember what brought him out here in the first place. the memory unfolds in a blur, the only clear images being that he offered to go to mc’s to take care of her and that yoosung thought they were just hanging out. then the next thing he knew (when he’s  _ so close _ to getting yoosung to call him by name, so terrifyingly close to being so vulnerable), yoosung’s drunk texting him about-

another sigh tears itself from saeyoung’s lungs, turning into a whining groan at the end. he smacks the palm of his hand against his forehead. the conversation comes back piece by piece regardless of how hard he tries to ignore it. the silly junk food care package, yoosung asking if saeyoung really wanted to take care of him, then…

_ a hug. i want a hug please _

it felt like a kick to the chest, that message. it snowballed after that, from yoosung saying he didn’t believe that saeyoung’s display of affection was genuine to words that saeyoung could  _ almost _ take to be longing, if he dared to look that far into it.

which he can’t, because he is an agent. and agents don’t deserve that kind of love. agents are dangerous, scary, can’t keep anyone too close because if they care about someone, it means they have a weakness. it means the people saeyoung cares about could get hurt, and it would be all his fault. the more he thinks about that, the deeper it hurts, like thorny vines wrapping tightly around his heart to act as a barrier between him and the rest of the world, wounding both sides if either got too close to the other.

again, he groans out loud to relieve some of the pressure in his lungs, and this time he kicks at the ground just for added childishness. the way his heel connects with the dirt is enough to make him feel a tiny bit more secure. he’s still on the ground, whether he likes it or not, lying in wet grass and trembling as he stares at the expanse of space above him with so much in his heart that he thinks it’ll burst like a balloon. 

he doesn’t need to check his phone to know the time (which is good, given that he’d left his cell back at the apartment anyway). roughly an hour and a half has passed since his arrival and he’s accomplished nothing except further blurring the line between 707 and saeyoung. 707 can’t have nice things, but saeyoung...could he? could he be saeyoung enough to get away from agent 707? 

...that’s a struggle for another day. 

reluctantly, he climbs to his feet, pulling his jacket tighter around him at the breeze sweeping by. his head aches, he realizes vaguely, vision briefly unfocused as he rights himself. it makes his eyelids heavy; much longer out here and he would’ve fallen asleep in the grass. 

stifling a yawn, he treks back towards his car, closing every door he’d had wide open in his head. he can’t think so freely anymore. he can’t dream wistfully of fairy tale love stories and knights in shining armor and certainly not of someone’s pretty violet eyes looking at  _ him _ and only him. it’s time for him to get back to reality.

and as far as he’s concerned, the reality is that this is a one-sided passing fancy that he’ll get over soon. very soon, he hopes desperately, slamming the car door shut behind him. he doesn’t want to hurt over this, but more importantly he doesn’t want yoosung to hurt over this. if, by some miracle, yoosung  _ does _ return even a fraction his feelings, he deserves someone better than a chronic secret-keeper who can’t decide who he wants to be most days. 

the engine rumbles to life, the radio along with it, and he finally gets the lock back in place to put an end to any further thoughts. his increasing sleepiness does wonders to help shut down his brain, too focused on keeping his eyes open to bother with much else.

by the time he pulls into the apartment parking lot, any bit of energy he’d had has been sapped out of him. he lays his forehead against the steering wheel for a moment, yawning for what must’ve been the twelfth time since he left the park. he really doesn’t want to make the trip inside; the car is warm and he knows if he pops the seat back then he’ll be comfortable enough to sleep. he’s done it several times before. 

also, he just  _ really _ doesn’t want to go back inside that apartment. not yet. if he did, he’d officially be back in his regular life. no more sweet thoughts about holding hands and forehead kisses, no more outlandish planning to somehow leaving the agency. he’d already shut those doors, but opening the door back to his everyday life so soon...

he discards his glasses in the passenger seat, lays his seat back, and cranks the radio a little higher. no one will miss him for a few hours.

a belated wish on the shooting star from the park is the last thought on his mind, but come morning he has no memory of just what that wish was. 

maybe it’s better that way, says his heavy heart.


End file.
